


the splatter zone

by perkalowy (Mikkeneko)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Again, Gen, Humor, Jaskier Can Take Care Of Himself, Lurid descriptions of violence in dialogue, but nobody gets hurt within the fic itself, jaskier gets kidnapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23036509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/pseuds/perkalowy
Summary: Jaskier's been kidnapped -- again -- by nefarious types who want to use him as leverage against Geralt. Jaskier has a few words of helpful advice to offer on their technique.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 64
Kudos: 456





	the splatter zone

**Author's Note:**

> more laughs for the witcher fandom! i was originally going to hold off on posting this until the first chapter of my geralt whump fic went up, but that's not going to be ready this weekend.
> 
> a short fic originally posted over on tumblr in response to [a thread](https://kevinssecretplace4546.tumblr.com/post/190699580957/jaskiersvalley-some-idiot-wants-geralt-to-do) about Jaskier getting kidnapped/threatened and geralt responding with increasing degrees of gory violence

“Can I offer you a piece of advice?” Jaskier said, to the burly man in the process of tying him to a tree. “Just, you know, from one man to another, completely free of charge? This is a _terrible_ idea.”

“Nobody asked you,” the woman snapped, hand on her shortsword as she narrowly watched her minions at work. There was one big, burly one who'd done most of the hauling, and another skinny one who spent most of his time playing lookout. The woman was definitely in charge. He wasn’t even sure _why_ this particular woman and her two minions had a grudge against Geralt; they hadn't deigned to tell him. Geralt's enemies all had weird and arcane motivations, nothing as simple or straightforward as a dalliance gone wrong for the white wolf, oh no.

They had him strung up in a kind of rope harness from a sturdy tree branch, hands behind his back, feet dangling well clear of the ground. It was terribly uncomfortable, but he couldn't say he hadn't been through worse. “You’re the Witcher’s bard, aren't you?" she continued. "He’ll come if you’re in danger. He’d better, if he wants to find you in one piece at the end of the night.” Her hand caressed the pommel of her sword in a way that expressed _way_ too much enthusiasm for the idea of separating Jaskier into multiple pieces.

Jaskier sighed. “Yes, I’m sure he will, and that’s the problem,” he said. “Look – you don’t think you’re the only ones to get this idea, do you? It’s been tried before, and let me tell you as the one who always ends up in the splatter zone, it always ends _badly.”_

The woman frowned forbiddingly at him, but one of the minions – the skinny weaselly one, not the burly one – turned in his direction. “Whaddya mean, ‘the splatter zone’?” he said suspiciously.

“Oh my god, you don’t even _know,”_ Jaskier said, voice bursting with aggravation. “You wouldn’t _think_ that human blood would be under that much pressure, would you? But it gets _everywhere._ Blood on the floor. Meat on the walls. Entrails on the _ceiling,_ for fuck’s sake, it’s enough to put a man off sausage for a month.”

“Shut the fuck up,” the burly minion rumbled. He shook him menacingly, which made Jaskier’s teeth rattle but did nothing to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying, I think a man’s rectum belongs _inside_ his body, as a general rule,” Jaskier continued, ignoring the injunction as his rant built up a good head of steam. “I swear, traveling with Geralt is like a fast-forward term as a physician’s apprentice. Or a butcher’s. I’ve learned the color of _so many_ organs, most of the time when they land in my lap. Did you know that a man can live for a good hour with the right half of his torso cut off? I didn’t. I didn't _want_ to know.”

The woman scowled, paced over, and slapped his face hard enough to set him swinging. Not that Jaskier minded a bit of slapping by a handsome woman, but this was really not the time or place. “Hold your tongue, bard, unless you want us to cut it out and mail it to your Witcher in a sack to show we’re serious!” she snarled.

“Oh yes, that one again! The last one threatened to cut off my hands, if you can believe it,” Jaskier said, exasperation leaking from every word. “What a piece of work _he_ was. ‘Can’t spread lies about filthy mutants without hands,’ they said. Then he exploded.”

The weaselly minion froze, slowly turning to look at him with white-rimmed eyes. “…Exploded?” he squeaked.

“Some Witcher nonsense! I don’t even _know.”_ Jaskier would have flung his hands up in exasperation if they were not tied behind his back. “I think Geralt boiled his heart. While it was still inside him. All I know is that his chest burst outwards like a festering abscess and smelled like overcooked pork. I was standing in front of him and it took weeks to wash it out of my hair.”

The minions’ nerve was visibly wavering; the small one was already backing away, and the big one was nervously checking over his shoulder for any sign of the approaching Witcher. “Don’t listen to him, you fools!” the woman said, but her own voice betrayed her uncertainty.

“Wait!” Jaskier called as they backed further away from him. “Don’t you want to hear about the time that the Baron of Woefield threatened to blind and deafen me with a stiletto? Geralt had the stiletto away from him in _five seconds_ and let me tell you, the good Baron ended up with more holes in him than a beehive. I don’t think there was a membrane left unpunctured by the time he was through. Have you ever tried to wash spinal juice out of a doublet in cold water? It’s awful.”

He could have gone on, but the minions had already vanished from sight down the road. The woman wavered on the edge of breaking, snarling curses -- but without her hired muscle she didn’t have the courage to face Geralt alone; at the first sound of footsteps she too broke and ran.

By the time Geralt arrived at the marker stone Jaskier was alone, trying to work his arms loose from the ropes so that he could free himself from the tree. Geralt sighed and re-sheathed his sword, crossing his arms over the impressive breadth of his chest as he propped himself against the tree and watched Jaskier's squirming. “Why is it,” he said conversationally, “that the last three times I get a summons from some idiot who thinks they can get to me through you, I show up at the meeting place and it’s like this.”

Jaskier gave his friend a blinding grin. “What can I say? I’m _very_ persuasive,” he said, and wobbled in mid-air a bit. “Can you cut me down, please?”

* * *

~end.

**Author's Note:**

> did these events actually take place as jaskier described? some of them. was he embellishing for the desired effect? most definitely.


End file.
